


Some Sunny Day

by CoffeeMinx



Series: What Happens In Freeside Universe [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Foreshadowing, Legion life, M/M, bad life choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 23:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1446388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeMinx/pseuds/CoffeeMinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The unlikely epic of Vulpes/Arcade continues.... (You probably should at least skim part 1 of this series so the relationship references make sense.) Originally written for the Fallout Kinkmeme.</p><p>Rated Mature because the rest of the stories in this series are Mature/Explicit, even though this one isn't particularly.</p><p>Set during the game, with a Legion-aligned Courier.</p><p>Title is from the 1939 song <i>We'll Meet Again (Some Sunny Day)</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Sunny Day

Sporting clean cut brown hair, a trimmed mustache, and skin tanned bronze from routinely crossing Mojave sands, the Courier carried himself with the sort of panache seen these days only in Pre-War magazines. Like he had somehow missed the two hundred odd years that had ravaged the earth. Vulpes could understand why the profligates liked him. Courier Braxton's exterior resembled the pinnacle of the society they strove to recapture.

His interior was another matter.

Vulpes hadn't particularly liked the man when they first met at Nipton. The Courier's assertion that he admired the purity of Legion justice had sounded more glib than sincere, uttered with the oily charm of someone practiced in saying what he thinks his listener wants to hear. But Vulpes had already promised not to harm him by then. So he'd allowed the Courier to wander off, with the injunction to spread word of the Legion's lesson to the NCR. Which he did, to a satisfactory degree.

It was the Courier's further exploits that truly earned him Caesar's attention. The hunting and killing of Benny. Entrance into the Lucky 38. The mass slaughter of the criminals at the NCRCF. Something about launching ghouls into space. This sounded like a man who not only thought of, but performed three impossible things before breakfast.

Braxton had not clearly aligned himself with any faction yet, which Caesar took as a good indication he could be persuaded to side with the Legion. Vulpes took it as a good indication of a man out for himself. With the NCR and the Legion so diametrically opposed, there could be no honest reason for a person not to possess a distinct preference. 

He had warned Caesar of this, of course. But as long as there was a chance of getting the famous Courier on his side, his lord was determined to meet the man face to face. 

So when Caesar had sent him to issue the invitation to Fortification Hill, he'd delivered it to Braxton, smooth and simple. Those were his orders and that was what he did. He completely hid the fact that he'd rather have invited the robot dog.

Braxton had been accompanied by a woman at the time, as well. She dressed plainly, with a cowl covering her hair, but her movements were quick and her eyes glittered with intelligence. Though not enough intelligence to see through Braxton's charisma, apparently. Or perhaps she was part of his opportunistic plans. In any case, today the Courier had shown up at the Fort with no dog and a different human companion.

A human companion who became a topic of conversation once Braxton returned from destroying whatever lurked in the bunker under the weather station, behind the sigil of the Lucky 38. Caesar had chanced to have one of his spells. He'd recovered quickly, though, and refused to allow the Courier to call for his friend.

"Why not? You'd like him," Braxton told Caesar. "He's smart, sassy, 'n' a medic to boot."

Lucius grunted. "Slaves shouldn't be permitted to be 'sassy'."

"Oh, he ain't my slave, he's just a sucker for flattery." Braxton's attention returned to Caesar. "And a little praise commin' from a father-figure like you? He'd be begging to do you any service you require. And boy I do mean anything. Bet he could cure your headaches like that." The Courier snapped his fingers. "One way or t'other," he added with a suggestive grin.

Caesar warned him off the topic of headaches with little grace. 

Braxton shrugged. "Ain't nothing to get sore about. Keep it in mind's all I'm saying. We all want the best for ya."

Vulpes could have laughed. Did it take a liar to spot another? Everyone assumed Braxton was true to Caesar because the ground had shaken. And, yes, he had to admit that had felt like an explosion. But there was something deeply wrong with this man. He could sense it. 

Not in the offering of his companion to Caesar, of course. That was fairly standard behavior. Many men offered whatever they had--wives, daughters, sons--to gain favor in their leader's eyes. Caesar never lacked for entertainment. 

No, the Courier was simply too smooth, his words too friendly with everyone for him to mean them with anyone. But charisma oozed from him as surely as blood from a gaping wound, and the obliging noise from his mouth seemed to enthrall everyone capable of liking humanity--an ability which Vulpes was proud to say was not one of his flaws.

So while Lucius instructed the Courier in the Legion's need to fix their howitzer, Vulpes wandered outside to see this poor unsuspecting fool the Courier had brought with him. It was true Caesar was in need of a doctor. His headaches were getting worse, both in severity and frequency. And the Legion needed Caesar. Lanius was a great warrior, but he had no head for governance.

Vulpes looked down the slope toward the arena and saw bright blond hair shining in the sun. The man had his back to him but he was taller than any of the legionaries surrounding him. His white Followers' lab coat was covered with dust from the road and more than a little blood splatter. There was a sheath on his belt where a ripper would normally have hung at his side.

Vulpes felt something hotter than the sun scorch his innards and his heart beat faster. It was impossible. But there was really only one person that could be.

Swifter than he would ever admit, he strode down the slope. 

"Yeah, but you're not wearing the Mark of Caesar." 

Vulpes recognized that voice as decanus Quintius. Above average fighter. Garden variety molester. He'd reprimanded Quintius last month for interfering with a slave girl not yet old enough to be assigned procreation duty. 

The tall blonde tried to dodge away from the decanus, but two legionaries grabbed his arms, holding him in place. Quintius was doing something with his hands, his actions blocked from Vulpes' view by the surrounding spectators' bodies. Probably groping the man, judging by the way he struggled to get away.

"You're fair game." The decanus laughed. "And you want it, too, don't you? Such a slut."

"Quintius, what have I told you about touching my things?"

The group looked to Vulpes, some startled, some stumbling in their haste to back off, all with various stages of fear and awe on their features. This was one of the things he enjoyed about his reputation. Not only was he one of Caesar's few favorites, but as the destroyer of Camp Searchlight and Nipton he was renowned for his cruelty in both design and deed. 

The legionaries melted away with salutes and mumbled versions of, "Sir. Sorry, sir," until only the decanus remained.

"I didn't know he was yours, sir," Quintius explained, head bowed. "Very sorry, sir."

"Report to your centurion for punishment. Dismissed."

Now they were alone. He and Arcade Gannon.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Arcade regarded him, one pale eyebrow raised in either mild surprise or scorn. "You're still alive then?"

"Yes."

"Pity."

"For all profligates, yes. You look well."

An exasperated sound erupted from Arcade's lips. "You're making this sound so civilized. Maybe I should call for tea."

"We are civilized. The Legion is the only true civilization…."

"Enough."

"And we do have tea. All great empires run on tea."

"You're trying to make me laugh. Stop it. I heard what you did at Camp Searchlight."

"Military target."

"And Nipton."

"Wicked place."

"And Nelson."

"Military target."

"Are you telling me…."

"I have been attempting to abide by your rules, yes."

Arcade's eyes widened. He struggled to speak through a sick, choking sound. "I'm not responsible--" 

"No, you are not," Vulpes snapped. "Have you ever thought about the logistics of irradiating a military camp? Getting enough matter into the place--secretly--to achieve the desired effect, yet not enough that any surrounding civilian settlements will be harmed? I worked hard on that one, I worked hard on all of them, and I take all the credit."

A long silence followed his outburst. 

Then Arcade mumbled, "I notice you didn't say glory."

"To fight surreptitiously is sometimes necessary and always effective. But it is not glorious. When the battle for Hoover Dam comes, there will be glory enough."

"When the battle for Hoover Dam comes, the Legion will be kicked back across the Colorado. Braxton will see to that."

"Will he really?"

"Yes. He's not like you." Arcade stopped, the tips of his ears starting to turn pink. "I mean, he's not like all of you." A wide arm gesture indicated the entire camp. "You support tyranny. And slavery. And just want to pretend the last two thousand years didn't happen so you can fight ancient wars all over again. We want to make the world a better place. We've already wiped out three Fiend strongholds. We're helping people."

"Dare I say you did that in Freeside without violence?"

"Taking out scumbags doesn't cause me to lose any sleep."

"My condolences on the loss of your conscience."

Arcade's eyes narrowed. "My conscience is just fine, thank you. Plus I have Braxton. He's a good man."

"Then why is he in there saying he is true to Caesar?" Vulpes pointed up toward Caesar's tent.

Arcade smiled, a smile that gloated over an unsharable secret. 

Vulpes pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to recapture his sense of calm. By Mars, he really hated Braxton now. Perhaps if he concentrated on that hatred. Pure, cold hatred. And a few deep breaths. 

"What do you know of him?" he asked Arcade. Glancing up, he noted the doctor's smug expression.

"All that I need. Julie said he was incredibly helpful to the Followers. And I haven't heard a bad word spoken against him. That's a rarity."

"It is an impossibility."

"You're just jealous. I mean, that he's better than you. Not that we.... And that's a plural you again. All of you. Not that I think you, specifically, would be jealous of.... Never mind."

From up the slope came the sounds of milling footsteps, snapping tent fabric, and a Praetorian guard's, "Ave." The Courier was taking his leave. They didn't have much time.

"That profligate has no honor. He is...evil."

"Oo-kay. If that's an example of the quality of your lies these days, you're losing your touch."

"It's not a lie, it's an observable fact."

"Right. Because helping anyone who asks, that's just downright naughty."

It was too late. The courier had ambled up to them. He stood close, almost possessively, at the doctor's side.

"Hey, handsome. Ready to stop being Vergil to my Dante?" Braxton grinned at Arcade. 

"Decidedly. Are we heading back to McCarran?"

The courier bumped his fist playfully against Arcade's shoulder. "Just gotta stop by the Boomers. Let's go."

Arcade turned to follow. 

Vulpes grasped his arm. "Don't come back," he whispered.

Arcade jerked his arm free. "I don't plan to."

"He does." Vulpes nodded toward Braxton's back as the man blithely marched on. "And when he does, do not come with him."

"I don't know why you're trying to drive a wedge between us, but it won't work. Really, I'm surprised you're that afraid of him...."

 _I'm not afraid of him, I'm afraid for you_. Vulpes clenched his jaw and did not voice the thought. Fear was fear and he wasn't going to admit to any of it. In fact, this entire conversation was ridiculous. Why did he care? Arcade becoming Caesar's slave would be a good thing for the Legion. He should walk away. Walk away now.

Instead, he stood and listened to Arcade continue, "But I guess I shouldn't be. All the Legion fears him, probably. He's saving the Mojave from the likes of you."

"Perhaps." Vulpes rummaged through his memory and tried one last time. "But quis custodiet ipsos custodes?"

Arcade snorted. "Heroes don't need watching."

Vulpes sighed. Arcade was too idealistic for his own good. How he had survived this long was beyond him. "I expect you are correct. But... Braxton will ask you to return here. And when he does, refuse. If you value your own life, refuse."

"Are you threatening me?"

"If that is what it takes, then, yes. Just do not come back."

Vulpes turned and walked away. As he watched his own boots scuff through the red dirt, he felt suffocated by the hope, the empty, disconsolate hope, that he would never meet Arcade again.


End file.
